


Postcards from Great Missenden: A Continuation of The Secrets We Keep

by FrancesOsgood



Series: The Secrets We Keep [3]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Bisexuality, Children, Domestic Fluff, Emotional, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Romance, Sex, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 22:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21023129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrancesOsgood/pseuds/FrancesOsgood
Summary: Snapshots of the day-to-day adventures and happenings of Jareth and Sarah as they settle into domestic life in Great Missenden. Directly follows "The Secrets We Keep".





	1. Death: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite ready to leave Jareth and Sarah and their HEA in Great Missenden. Those two still have too many stories to tell.

Death was coming for him. Jareth could feel it. He could hear its rustling in the rumpled sheets and its scratchings at the bedposts. It had crept in on velvet paws and was waiting to pounce and devour him. 

He wasn’t afraid. He was annoyed. Annoyed at his own weakness. His powerlessness against this most final of foes.

He swept a hand over his fevered brow and sighed. He would have much preferred to have been struck down in a mighty battle. There was dignity and honor in dying with a sword in your hand. 

But this… He supposed there could be valor seen in facing an enemy of the flesh. This sickness, this wasting disease would be his crowning challenge. The concluding battle. His last and greatest trial… 

“Oh there you are,” said a voice from the door. The door opened and an angel appeared, chestnut haired and full-breasted. She gave a little frown before leaning toward the floor.

“I wondered where you went.” The angel scooped a small furry scrap from the rug and brought it up to her chest.

“You’re not supposed to be in here. This area has been quarantined,” she said, holding the squirming kitten under her chin. She turned toward the bed where he lay and smiled.

“How are you feeling, Jareth?” she asked.

He shivered and gave a feeble cough. “I-- I’m dying,” he moaned. 

“Poor baby,” Sarah replied with a pout. “Perhaps you’ll remember this the next time you are tempted to blow off your appointment for your flu shot.”

“Urmmmgggh…” he groaned in reply.

“Sip your ginger ale and try to sleep. I’ll check on you again later,” said Sarah. She smiled back at him before closing the door of the guest bedroom, leaning him in darkness.

Jareth took a small sip from the glass beside his bed before flopping listlessly onto his pillow, a prayer for death on his lips. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Man-Flu


	2. Six Red Roses

She tried to keep her distance without losing sight of him in the bustling city crowds. His long strides made it difficult to keep up and maintain enough space between them to remain unseen.

Sarah understood that Jareth was mercurial by nature, but recently his mood had noticeably shifted. In the past few days he’d become increasingly quiet and guarded. She’d asked him numerous times about it, but he didn’t seem eager to talk. He’d been more restless than usual at night, staying up long after she’d gone to bed, reading or listening to music. The previous night she’d been awakened at 3:30 in the morning by Jareth clattering around in the kitchen. It thoroughly annoyed her that he seemed hell-bent on closing himself off in a maze of misery rather than opening up and talking it out with her.

“_ What could be distressing him so much _?” she wondered. Was he already regretful of giving up his immortality for a finite life with her? He’d seemed happy enough in the weeks after they’d married and moved to the country house. He’d filled the stables with gorgeous horses and tended the garden with care, pruning her roses and keeping the grass and hedges neatly trimmed. He was liked around town. The wives of Great Missenden regularly came to him for cooking advice. He taught a few music lessons to local children and had even volunteered at the Bazaar at the little stone church the previous month. Sarah had thought he was happy…

So why was he skulking off to London on a Saturday without a word other than, “I’m going out. Be back in a bit.”? He was dressed like a double agent from a schlocky spy movie: black trench coat, black fedora, black gloves. Sarah watched him as he moved smoothly through the crowd, a black shadow among the throngs of camera-toting tourists and soccer hooligans crowding the London streets. 

The streets were so packed she almost missed him when he turned down a side-street and into a small corner shop. Sarah waited across the street, hidden behind a cluster of American tourists who were checking a large folding map for the location of the nearest McDonald’s. Jareth finally reemerged from the shop and Sarah narrowed her eyes at what he clutched in his hand: blood-red roses. A half dozen of them. 

“What the actual fuck?’ she said aloud. 

With her curiosity deepening to suspicion, Sarah sprinted across the street as Jareth slipped into the horde of bodies and almost vanished. She managed to spot the top of his ridiculous hat over the crowd and followed it as it moved swiftly down the street, cutting between The Kings Library and a Tesco Express. The crowds were thinner in this section of town and Sarah hung back further, keeping a wide distance between herself and her wandering husband.

“_ Just how much _ ** _has_ ** _ he been wandering _?” she thought, glaring at the six red roses draped across his arm. 

She trailed several yards behind him as he passed through a large iron gate flanked on either side by iconic red phone boxes. The street narrowed into a footpath and wound through clusters of trees and marble statuary. Jareth’s pace slowed at a bend in the shaded path and he stepped from the paved trail and onto a patch of grass. 

Sarah crouched down behind a stone pillar and watched as he knelt and laid the bouquet of roses on top of the earthy mound. A mixture of shame and relief flooded over her as he stepped back and she could read the name etched into the marble slab at the head of the grave. 

_ Luca Maurizio Vittorino _

_ Beloved Friend _

_ Riposa In Pace _

Swiftly and silently, Sarah left the cemetery and hurried back to the country house in Great Missenden. She was waiting when Jareth returned some time later, solemn-faced and silent.

His eyes lightened when he saw her and he gathered her into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his neck. “I should have known.”

“It’s okay, love,” he told her. “I wanted to tell you… it’s still a very difficult thing to put into words.”

“You loved him,” said Sarah.

Jareth gave a half nod. “I suppose I did, in my own way,” he answered. “Not in the way he wanted… but yes. I did.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around him and gave him a tight squeeze. “It isn’t your fault that you couldn’t give him more,” she told him.

“Perhaps not,” said Jareth, “But he deserved more. Much more.”

Sarah pressed a hand to his jawline and looked him in the eye. “You were a good friend,” she said. “You still are.” 

She kissed his nose.

“Tell you what,” she began. “Tonight we’re going to celebrate Luca. You’re going to make Carbonara and we’re going to drink good Italian wine and you can tell me stories about the two of you. I’m particularly interested in the marinara sauce incident.” 

“Oh yes?” Jareth asked, arching an eyebrow and grinning wickedly. 

“Yes,” Sarah purred. “And I want all the dirty details.”

Jareth shuddered noticeably and Sarah laughed. 

“As my queen commands,” her husband said, giving her an elegant bow before scurrying off to the kitchen for spaghetti noodles and eggs. 

Sarah made a mental note of the date. Next year she would be ready. Unless he wanted to, Jareth would never have to face this day alone again. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not crying, you're crying.


	3. Spoiled

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about, Sarah,” Jareth said, shadowing her as she stomped around the kitchen. She slammed a cupboard shut, rattling the crockery in it and Jareth winced. 

You know perfectly well why I am so upset, Jareth,” she spat. “You went behind my back and gave into him. Again.” She slammed the tea kettle down on the stove to emphasize her point.

“But Sarah, love, it’s such a simple thing. I didn’t see the harm--” 

“In stabbing me in the back after I had already told him no?”

“Stabbing you in the back?” sneered Jareth. “Honestly dear, you don’t have to be so damned dramatic about it.”

She whirled around to face him, her eyes flashing fire and he knew he’d said the wrong thing, but he was too riled up to care. She was being unreasonable.

“We’re supposed to be a  _ team _ , Jareth,” Sarah argued. “We’re not going to work as a team if our son thinks he can play us against each other. We shouldn’t be playing Good Cop-Bad Cop.”

Jareth folded his arms over his chest and glowered. “No,” he said. “It’s no fun being forced into the villain role, is it, Sarah?”

Sarah narrowed her eyes at him and he immediately regretted his words. “You arrogant bastard,” she hissed. “I’m only looking out for the good of our son.”

“Well so am I,” Jareth shot back. “He’s a good boy. He deserves good things.”

“He won’t be a ‘good boy’ if you continue to spoil him!” Sarah cried. “He’ll be a selfish, entitled ass like--”

“Go ahead and say it, Sarah,” Jareth told her coldly.

“Like a certain Goblin King I used to know.” There was venom in her voice.

Jareth turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle Peaches’ cage and send Sir Lancelot scurrying under the sofa. 

“Damned exasperating woman!” he snarled as he stomped across the yard. “I should be able to indulge my son if I want.”

He heard the echo of his own father in his voice and paused. 

“Da,” he sighed. 

It had been eons since he’d thought of the flame-haired giant of a man who had once borne him on his shoulders and showed him the wonders of the Underground. How many times had his father laughed at his mother over her fussing and worry?

“You’re spoiling the boy,” she’d say. “He’ll not be fit to rule if you continue to indulge him so.”

His father had always shrugged off her chiding, giving his son whatever his little heart desired. And Jareth had continued to demand more and more. By the time he became a young adult he was already insufferably greedy and egotistical. 

Jareth thought about the way his former friends and allies had drifted away from him, having been hurt in one way or another by his self-serving tendencies. He’d ended up quite alone, in a dark castle with a only a horde of goblins for company. His father, long crossed over to Tir na Nog, would have been ashamed.

He hung his head and kicked at a pile of dirt.

“Fuck,” he muttered before turning and heading back into the house. 

* * *

“I’m sorry,” he told her again, looking up from between her thighs. “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t spoil the boy excessively.”

Sarah lifted her head and opened one eye. “Jareth,” she sighed. “I know you adore your son, but as his parents, we have to set rules and boundaries. It’s for his protection and to ensure that he grows into a person who is kind and thoughtful and unselfish.”

Jareth nodded. “I understand,” he told her. “I’ll try to do better.”

“Good,” Sarah said, running her fingers through his hair. She closed her eyes and lay back against the pillow. “Less talking now. More pleasuring.”

“Yes, dear.”

* * *


	4. The Cat That Got the Cream

Jareth paused at the threshold of the bedroom door, his pointed ears perked and listening. He had come home early from his classes with the intention of surprising Sarah with a drive out to her favorite restaurant. The bouquet of wildflowers he had picked on the way home trembled in his grasp as he listened to the sultry sounds emanating from within the bedroom.

“Mmmm…” said the female voice he recognized as belonging to his wife. Her tone was low, growly and sensual.

“So good…” he heard her moan. His grip tightened on the flowers as he listened to the sighs and purrs of pleasure on the other side of the closed door.

“Oooh… yessssss…” Sarah cried, the satisfaction in her voice undoing his resolve and making him see flashes of red and black. 

He flung open the bedroom door with a bang and burst into the room, tossing the flowers aside. Sarah yelped at his unexpected arrival, jumping up from the bed and attempting to hide the evidence of her misdeed. Unfortunately, it was also smeared all over her fingers and face.

Jareth stared first at her and then at the bed, where her partner in crime sat shamelessly licking at a sticky glob on the sheets. 

Sarah gave her husband a weak smile as he glowered at her and put his hands on his hips.

“Sarah,” Jareth hissed. “I told you that clotted cream was for the cranberry scones!”

Sarah looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just going to have a teensy taste but it was so good. I couldn’t help myself.”

Jareth stepped around her and retrieved the nearly-empty bowl from the bed. “You’ve eaten almost all of it!” he cried in disbelief.

“Lancelot helped,” Sarah said, pointing at the fat, orange tabby who was licking clotted cream from his front paws.

“Cream really isn’t good for cats, Sarah,” Jareth chided. He picked up Sir Lancelot who was trying to climb into the bowl of clotted cream for another taste. 

“It’s not?” asked Sarah. 

“No,” replied Jareth, wrestling the squirming cat away from the bowl. “Cats are actually--”

A wet gurgle interrupted him and Jareth looked down in time to see Sir Lancelot hurl clotted cream down the front of his royal blue button-down.

“Lactose intolerant,” Jareth finished with a groan. 

* * *


End file.
